He lives no more.
Sometimes I feel so very lost,
with no more lions to kill.
My soul in winter seasonís frost,
the cold is all too real.
A heart stained with the blood Iíve spilled,
filled with secrets unrevealed.
So many nights I thought to pray,
but never found the words to say.
A measure of guilt remains my curse,
until sweet death comes calling.
I see myself absent of worth,
upon my knees Iím crawling.
Each day Iím left to contemplate,
the tragedy by twist of fate,
that faced a boy into a war,
and left a man that lives no more.